


The Cost of War

by minnabird



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Crossover, Gen, War, X-Wing(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-09-13 19:52:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9139813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minnabird/pseuds/minnabird
Summary: After a recon mission gone wrong, Resistance pilot Ransom Oluransi is captured by the First Order. Returning to base alone, his wingman Holster discovers that the mission is much bigger than he thought. With a planet in the crosshairs and the painful pasts of several of his squadron mates pulled into the light, Holster must face the First Order without his best friend - and without knowing whether he can save him.





	1. Risk and Reward

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thehatofaprincess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thehatofaprincess/gifts).



> This fic is for Stef! I hope it's to your liking, babe. <3 It's been so great getting to know you this year, and it's almost weird writing Holster now; your Holster is just so perfect.

**CHAPTER ONE** _  
_ **Risk and Reward**

_A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away…_

_Starkiller is down, but the war is just beginning._ _At the edge of a remote Outer Rim system, First Order forces are massing – for what sinister purpose, no one knows._

_Tasked with a risky reconnaissance mission, RESISTANCE pilots Adam Birkholtz and Justin Oluransi approach the enemy…_

Jholi received only a milky light from its faraway sun. The olive-green surface of the gas giant, with its swirls and striations, would provide a safe berth to no one. Orbiting round its mass, though, was a far worse threat. Glinting in the sudden light, the pointed nose of a ship crested the curve of the planet’s horizon. Slowly, inexorably, an _Imperial-_ class Star Destroyer came into view, its dagger-shaped outline immediately recognizable. Behind it, more shapes emerged, three smaller cruisers in a pack. A second Star Destroyer came, and then the hulking outline of a _Resurgent_ -class Battlecruiser, looming like the Star Destroyer’s uglier, bigger brother.

In the cockpit of his fighter, Holster whistled into the comm. “Intelligence wasn’t wrong,” he said. “How much of their fleet d’you think that is?”

Ransom’s voice crackled across the connection. “Don’t know, would really like to find out.”

“You and me both, my brother,” Holster said, tapping his fingers against his knee as he thought. What _would_ so much firepower – and, if the ships held even a fraction of their capacity, manpower and fighter-power – be doing all the way out here? The only thing marginally interesting about the system was its single inhabited world, Ghemenis – and that was four planets away and could uncharitably be called a two-bit junkheap.

Movement caught his eye, and Holster watched in alarm as Ransom’s X-wing peeled silently away from the rocky surface of the moon they’d been hugging. “Whoa, man, what are you doing?” Holster said. “We _just_ said that was way too many to take on.”

Ransom’s voice: “Going silent.” 

Holster’s heart jumped up to strangle him. “No, no, you are _not_ allowed to go off-book right now–”

There was a faint buzz as the link between them went dead, and Ransom’s fighter plunged gracefully into a tighter orbit of the planet, then simply stopped moving.

Holster knew this plan. His hand tightened on the control stick as he thought about following. There was a reason Jack had shot the plan down: the Resistance couldn’t afford to lose fighters on suicide recon missions.

Deliberately, Holster relaxed his hand. No. If Ransom was going to do this, then Holster needed to wait till he got what he needed, then get out of here. “You asshole,” he breathed.

Keeping an eye on the fleet as it drifted ever closer to Ransom’s ship, Holster settled in for a long wait. When the Star Destroyer in the lead broke away from the fleet to approach Ransom, Holster knew what was likely happening. They would be hailing Ransom’s ship, only to find the comms dead. With the ship drifting, maybe someone would assume that it was empty, abandoned. Maybe someone else would suspect a trick.

As they had expected, a tractor beam flared out, wrapping around the X-wing and towing it into a gaping white mouth in the hull of the ship.

Ransom was in, and Holster felt sick.

For a long, long time, nothing happened. Holster tried to distract himself from imagining what was happening to Ransom inside the Destroyer by reviewing hyperspace coordinates to his rendezvous with Jack, by chatting with his astromech (as far as such chats could go, which was very far, if you were bored enough), and checking, over and over, for the red light amid his controls and readouts that would tell him a data packet had come in. Holster had fallen simply to staring at the fleet, watching its slow progression, when his astromech let out a string of excited beeps and whistles. Holster’s eyes flew to the light.

Red. Holster took a deep breath, pushing away the panic clawing at his chest. _You can leave him_ , he told himself. _You_ have _to leave him._ Another breath, and it was locked away, enough that he was able to put a smile in his voice as he said, “All right, Kayfour. Time to get out of here.”

As they lifted off the moon, Holster kept one eye on the fleet. He told himself it was to be sure he wasn’t spotted – but as they prepared to make the leap to hyperspace, he knew he’d been hoping that he might see another X-Wing curving through the sky to join him.

Holster returned alone and undetected. He tried to tell himself it was a victory.

 

 

R3-K4 whistled proudly as he rolled along beside Holster. “Good job, buddy, but quiet down,” Holster said, reaching out to pat the transparent dome of his head. Kayfour’s eye swiveled towards him and he let out an indignant beep. “Well, maybe I’m not feeling as good about this mission as you are,” Holster said.

Once they were inside the briefing room, Kayfour hesitated, a light on top of his head blinking. Holster smiled a little, seeing the likely cause: White Squadron’s resident tech, known always and exclusively as Lardo among the squadron. Fiercely protective of their X-wings, she’d been known to let pilots and droids alike have it if they brought them home damaged.

The second she turned one of her famed glares on him, Holster’s smile died entirely and he gulped. She marched over to him. “You,” she said, poking him in the chest. “ _You_ let the First Order _capture_ one of our T-70s.”

“I don’t think that’s the most important thing he let them capture.” Holster looked over Lardo’s head at Jack, then away, unable to meet his eyes for long. Jack’s eyes were stern, bluer than ever in his obvious displeasure.

“Yeah, not really helping,” Holster said, pushing Lardo’s hand away and moving past her to get to a seat among the rest of the squadron. He avoided Bitty, who was giving him sympathetic looks, and threw himself down next to Shitty. “Kayfour gave you the data, right, Jack?” Beside him, Kayfour beeped an affirmative, and Holster knocked a knuckle against his dome. “Ransom went in without my okay, but he went to get that. Tell me the risk didn’t pay off.”

Jack just sighed and went around to the holoprojector at the front of the briefing room. Holster relaxed. Jack would never tell him it had been a good call, going against direct orders, but at least Holster knew Ransom hadn’t gone in for nothing.

The holo flicked on, and Holster recognized an image of the Ghemenis system, its six planets spread out around their sun. Jack pointed out Jholi. “Here, as Holster already knows, is where an informant reported seeing First Order ships. Thanks to Holster, we now know their numbers, unless more are on their way.” The image switched to a replication of the fleet as Holster had described it. Beside him, Shitty leaned forward, hand over his mouth as he listened intently.

“Holster’s reconnaissance gave us nothing about why these ships might be there. But I had a suspicion, going in, and Ransom...” Jack frowned, glancing at Holster. “Ransom may have just confirmed it.”

“What?” Holster asked.

“It’s not your fault Ransom did what he did,” Jack said. “It’s mine, for putting him on this mission. I knew the risk, but he insisted and I let him.” He reached out to the holorecorder, and the image switched once more to an image of the system. “What I didn’t tell you in the briefing – what I’m telling you all, right now, in utmost confidentiality…” Jack glanced around the room then, including everyone in the squadron in this. “Jholi has no importance. But the inhabited planet, Ghemenis _…_ ” Jack zoomed in on the second planet and froze it with a marked city facing out towards them.

“We think they’ve found the Hospital,” Jack said. Shitty cursed, but it was soft and low, as if he’d been expecting this blow – whatever it was.

“What’s that? And what does it have to do with Ransom throwing himself into the First Order’s hands?” Holster asked, feeling his face flush with frustration. He hated being out of the loop, but even worse was being out of the loop about his _best friend_. Who he ought to know more about than Jack, of all people.

“It’s where Ransom and I come from,” Jack said. His shoulders were tense with the admission, but Holster ignored this.

“Rans is from Naboo,” he said flatly.

“After Naboo,” Jack said. “The Hospital’s where the Resistance recruited us. It’s where…” Jack met Shitty’s eyes, and Shitty sighed.

“It’s a place that hides First Order defectors,” Shitty said. “People who’ve been rescued.”

Holster turned to Shitty, horror chilling him. “You mean…?”

Shitty nodded. “Ransom’s back in their hands, and they’ve got a massive fleet pointed right at the people who’ve defied them.”

Jack’s voice came then, heavy and final. “The First Order’s going to try to take revenge.”

 

 


	2. Past Due

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **CWs here for kidnapping and human experimentation.**

**CHAPTER TWO** _  
_**Past Due**

 

His head was going to explode.

Justin had been in the new facility for only a few hours, but he had been in agony since the moment they came out of hyperspace. He was vaguely aware that he had been given a small, plain room – mercifully plain, all neutral colors and no decoration – but far more real to him than the room was the vast stream of information coming in. He hadn’t made it to the bed; he was curled on the floor, hands over his ears, though it would do nothing to stop the voices ringing inside his head.

The door opened with a  _ swish _ , and Justin looked up, barely able to see the scientist through a flickering fog of images. Justin’s mouth opened; he wanted to plead  _ make it stop, make it stop _ . But pleas would do nothing to alter the situation.

Dr. Guen crouched on the floor, his large, beady eyes fixed on Justin. “It will be all right. The engineers are hard at work limiting the signals you receive,” he said. Though he spoke Basic, it came out rapidly, flavored with his native Sullustese. It took Justin a moment to understand him, with so much else in his head. He nodded when he had, not encouraged. Guen tilted his head. “Understand that it will take some time to fine-tune the devices inside you. They are highly experimental. It may be that we will have to rework the devices themselves, although we are doing what we can remotely.”

Pulling a handheld scanner out of his lab coat, Guen swept it over Justin’s eyes, ear, and throat. He made a noncommittal noise, then stood.

“Wait,” Justin said. Guen’s eyes focused on Justin’s face again, watching impatiently as Justin struggled to get the words out. “Can you make me sleep?” he asked.

“I think that can be arranged,” Guen said. With another  _ swish _ of the door, he was gone, and Justin was alone again – but there would be no quiet.

The images, the voices, came through implants Guen and his team had given him: lenses in his eyes, a microphone under the skin near his throat, and a tiny speaker near his left ear, all linked to a tiny computer under the skin of his left arm. Justin had listened and listened, and he knew a little of how it worked – essentially a comlink, able to receive and transmit images and audio, and to tap automatically into whatever communications network was nearest. It had been fine in the old facility, the one Justin had almost started seeing as home, with the croaking of jungle insects and the patter of rain a soothing constant, where communications were few and far-between.

Justin forced himself to think. This must be the next phase – testing and refining in a real situation, with plenty for the devices to receive. But why hadn’t they put some controls in place before? Had they not realized how much it would pick up? Or had they just not cared?

The last possibility was depressingly probable. 

Justin spent the next weeks or months – it was hard to be sure – in a haze, alternating between pain and sedation. Guen’s team performed more tests, but finally they had to resort to a series of surgeries and adjustments. In his few moments of clarity, Justin saw signs of strain in the scientists, as well. And he began to form a picture of the world where he had been taken. It was somewhere along the Perlemian Trade Route – he’d known that much before. Lantillies. Justin liked the sound of it in his mouth, but not so much the images that came through, all shipyards and teeming cities. It made him long for green hills and crashing waterfalls; he hadn’t let himself think of Naboo in months, but all his self-control was gone, and he missed it keenly.

His parents thought he was at an elite academy – that was the worst of it. Justin himself had participated in the lie. He had not liked the idea of the consequences if he didn’t, and so he had smiled for the holovids, chattering about friends he didn’t have and marks he wasn’t getting. If he lied well enough, they promised, then someday he would get to go back.

The thing that Justin had never been able to figure out was: why?

A new figure appeared in the facility during that time – a woman whose bearing was so stiff that it made her look very tall. She had piercing, dark eyes and always wore her black hair in a single, long plait. Justin had no idea who she was; she never spoke in earshot of him. But she seemed to make the others very nervous.

When Justin opened his eyes to clarity for the first time since they’d arrived on Lantillies, he thought he must be dreaming. He’d been sedated and then on painkillers for the last few days, following the latest surgery, and when he moved his left arm, he noticed white bandaging wrapped around the forearm. Nothing hurt – not even his head, for the flow of information had finally stopped.

And then the door opened.

Standing framed in the doorway was the strange woman. Her eyes trailed over him, and Justin felt a shiver go down his spine at the scrutiny. “Hello, Subject Eleven,” she said, stepping inside and letting the door close behind her. She drew a chair away from the wall and settled into it. She leaned over to rest her elbows on her spread knees, but the effect was no less intimidating than her usual erect posture. “I am Director Corin Neikea,” she said. “Your…guardians don’t want me to speak about this to you, but I think it’s time you got a little bit of the truth.” Her lips curled, though there was no smile in her eyes. “Don’t you think that would be nice?”

 

 

The room was dark, black walls and furnishings with vicious silver accents.

The stormtroopers who had hauled Ransom off his fighter had strapped him to the chair inside and left. In the first moments, the surroundings slammed him back into a long-ago terror: taken from transport to Star Destroyer, confined and shipped across the galaxy from where he was supposed to be. Only this time, Ransom was no child, and he knew why he was here. Ransom waited.

Finally, the door opened. Ransom raised his eyes from the floor – and froze.

“It’s been a long time,” Director Neikea said. Her black eyes blazed with fury, a sharp contrast to her polite smile. “To what do we owe the pleasure of this…visit?”

“You used to be more direct,” Ransom said.

“You used to be more compliant,” she shot back, stepping in close, until she loomed over him. Behind her, two stormtroopers guarded the door. Ransom tilted his chin up, trying to disguise the frantic beating of his heart.

“I was a child,” Ransom said, and his voice did waver ever so slightly then.

He remembered the briefings.

The holovids.

The drugs.

And, endlessly, the reminder: before he was returned to his family, the Bureau would position assassins. If his loyalty ever came into question, they would have no qualms killing every last member of his family.

The First Order had been training up the young for their army – and Neikea had wanted to do the same for Intelligence. Her purview was infiltration, and she had selected children from prominent families across the galaxy to train up and return home to feed her information. She had told him that much, though Ransom knew nothing of the others – only that there must have been ten before him, and that others had been subjected to experimental modifications. 

He remembered the disdainful curl of Neikea’s lip when she mentioned the failure of another experiment, as if the subject’s weakness had killed him, and not the scientists.

“You were an asset,” Neikea said now. “And you were ours. And what the First Order claims, it never lets go.” She placed her hands on the arms of Ransom’s chair, leaning in until their faces nearly touched. Into that close space, she hissed, “Remember that, as Ghemenis burns. Your family may have hidden themselves away, but you cannot stop this.” She drew back a little, and this time an inky trickle of dread coiled in his stomach as he saw her smile. “If you had been loyal, then none of this would have happened. Ghemenis will burn for you.”

When he was alone, Ransom blinked the sweat out of his eyes. What Neikea had said still horrified him, but she had forgotten one thing. During the long process of modifications, the scientists had given his comlink the ability to record audio, as well as transmit it.

Ransom had caught everything. He only had to wait for them to free his hands, and a single touch of his finger would send the recording to Holster. As for what would happen next… Ransom swallowed down his fear. It would not be pleasant. But many years of his life had not been pleasant, and at least he might be able to save some people in the process.


	3. Borrowed Time

**CHAPTER THREE  
** **Borrowed Time**

 

It was jarringly quiet when Jack stepped into base camp, five of his pilots behind him.

It wasn’t much to look at: a line of low, sturdy barracks and, across a gravel courtyard, a single square building that served as the nucleus of the Hospital’s operations. That was the point; this place was barely visible from air or water. It lay close enough to a fishing village that the people who trawled the sea knew its shape, but they didn’t ask questions.

Jack felt this place’s familiarity in his bones. He’d stayed here longer than any place other than the First Order’s training facility. He felt a low throb of anxiety, but he pushed it down. It might claim him later, but for now, he had a mission.  He let himself slide into soldier mode instead, glancing around to identify who might be here. The usual complement of starfighters were parked under the cover of tarps, give or take one or two. The big shuttle, though, was missing.

Jack called out to a child, a tiny Togruta, playing nearby. “Is George in?”

The child looked at him, wide-eyed, until a dark skinned human girl pulled him to her side. “Who’s asking?” she challenged.

“We’re expected,” Jack said. Holster thumped him on the shoulder, and he forced himself to relax. He addressed the next bit to the scared child, squatting to bring himself closer to his level. “We gave the clearance codes to command, or we wouldn’t be here,” he said. “That’s how this works. You’re safe here.”

The girl still eyed him with mistrust, but she said, “George is out.”

Jack straightened with a sigh. It would have been easier if she were here.

“Jack!” a voice called, and Jack’s head snapped up. Despite the situation, he grinned as a human missile pelted across the gravel towards him. Tater hit him in a flurry of grabbing arms and laughter, and Jack slapped his back heartily in return. “Good to see you,” he said into Tater’s shoulder. He sobered quickly as they pulled away. “Good instincts on that message. You’re not going to like what’s out there.”

“We already don’t,” Tater said. “These people jamming our signals since yesterday.”

“Tell us about it inside,” Jack said, and Tater led them towards the command building. “Who’s in charge right now?”

“Guy. He not happy,” Tater said.

Jack nodded, and held a hand up to forestall the curiosity in his team’s faces. “Introductions inside,” he said, as Tater opened the door.

His plan had always been to keep the Hospital and the Resistance separate. They had a common enemy, but each was a threat to the other if a link between them was discovered. With war declared, though, there was less risk in allying with vigilantes like the Hospital - and the Hospital already had a target painted on it.

Those fears, too, could wait for later.

Command looked even smaller on the inside, with no windows, only humming machinery and various screens. In the center was a holoprojector large enough to be mistaken for a table for two. Guy sat in one corner with his feet propped up, a headset hooked around his neck as he waited for transmissions. His harsh face barely shifted as he noticed Jack’s little company. “Here you are,” he said. “Got news for me?”

“First Order fleet,” Jack said. “A big one.” He fell into conference with Guy, forgetting his promise of introductions.

Behind him, Tater held out a hand to Holster. “If we are waiting for him to remember, we wait long time. Mashkov,” he said.

“Birkholtz,” Holster replied. “You’re right. These are Chow, Farmer, Nurse, and Poindexter.” He pointed out each over his shoulder. “Looks like we’re joining up for a little.”

“You pilots?” Tater asked. Holster nodded. “He was in my squadron with me.” Tater’s eyes glittered with mirth. “Maybe soon we see who’s flying fancier, new or old, huh?”

“Maybe soon,” Holster said, with no hope that things would quiet down long enough for that. Not in the near future, anyway.

Guy stood, breaking up his and Jack’s murmured talk, and went to the holoprojector. “I’d better speak to the governor, talk him into an evac order. Thanks for the warning,” he said. “Mashkov, get the safehouse cleared. Code Esk.”

Jack held up a hand. “My squadron can help. You still have the skiffs?”

“Good man, Jacky. Bring ‘em in,” Guy said. “Mashkov, take orders to Falcon squadron, then. I want everyone on alert, ready to evacuate base. Bring in the freighters.”

“Poindexter, Nurse, with me,” Jack said, and they fell in behind him.

“What about me?” Holster asked without thinking.

Jack gave him a long look, his eyes softening. “Holster, you need a break. We’ve got a long battle ahead, and I know you didn’t sleep. Sit. Eat something. I don’t want you breaking out there.”

Holster’s shoulders tightened, but he saluted. “Yes, sir.” He saw the hurt in Jack’s eyes, but neither of them lingered. Jack was gone, leaving Holster feeling hollowed-out.

Chowder’s hand gripped Holster’s shoulder, and Holster broke out of his stillness. “Better see what we’re dealing with,” he said. “Mashkov, need any help?”

Tater smiled. “Falcons can handle it. Jack, he gives good advice. Good leader. The mess is being at end of second barracks on left. Can’t miss it, smells like fish.”

“Thanks,” Holster grumbled.

The girl from earlier was still hanging around the courtyard, and she followed their group as they turned toward the mess hall. “What’s going on? Who are you?” she demanded. She could only be about sixteen, but the petulant jut of her chin and the hardness in her dark eyes suggested trouble.

“Let’s sit down and talk,” Farmer said, hands out as if to guide both Holster and the girl through the door of the mess. The fish smell _was_ unmistakable, in the form of some kind of stew. Holster’s stomach rumbled. “I’ll grab some trays,” Farmer said hastily, as the girl stuck like a burr to Holster’s side. Chowder followed. They were hardly sitting when the girl said, “Well?”

Holster rubbed his eyes, not sure what to tell her. He didn’t want to cause a panic here. “What’s your name?” he said, stalling.

“Jaisi. And you are?”

“Adam Birkholtz,” Holster said shortly. “We’re here to help.” Which was a lie for now, he thought with frustration. Ransom was out there right now, and the people of this planet needed to get out before the First Order obliterated them, and maybe people were working on the second, but Ransom–

“Help with what?” Jaisi asked.

“Good question,” Holster muttered, before the others returned with stew and chatter about the outcome of a gravball match Holster had missed. Holster let it wash over him, concentrating on eating and ignoring Jaisi’s impatient glare.

 

 

A beep sounded, and Jack brought his comlink up.

“Falcon Three, come in.” It was Guy’s voice, using his old callsign.

“Copy,” Jack said, stepping away from the line of waiting refugees. They’d been taking them in twos or threes to the docks, alternating between the various hidden exits at their disposal. The safehouse was built for emergencies like this.

“Better hurry,” Guy said. “Governor agreed to a full evacuation. He’ll be issuing an order ‘with all due speed,’ so I imagine you have a few hours before they get their feet under them. Better keep ahead of the rush, all the same.”

“Will do. Don’t you have a new Falcon Three?”

“Up in orbit. No signal. Caught your attention, didn’t it?”

“Affirmative,” Jack said. “Try White Leader in the future.”

“All grown up now, huh?” Guy’s voice was gruff, but Jack heard the fondness even over the comms.

“I was grown up when you met me,” he said, knowing Guy would hear the same sentiment in his voice. It was why they’d worked so well together. “I’ll report in when we’re done here.”

He looked uneasily at the people still huddled here. Mentally, he calculated how long it would take to get them to base at the current rate. The place was full – they’d taken in nearly a whole village for relocation a week ago, Jack gathered. He’d have to risk bigger groups, and try not to think too hard about the rest of the planet. One step at a time. He pointed to five refugees, then another five. “You’re the next two groups. Be ready.”

 

 

Holster tried to nap in the barracks. Farmer and Chowder seemed to be giving him space; they’d stayed outside, leaving him to bunk down alone. For a while, exhaustion took him under, but a dream of Ransom sent him jerking back to reality.

The problem was, the nightmare was too close to real possibilities. He’d heard all sorts of things, both confirmed testimony from people who’d had brushes with the First Order, and speculation based on knowledge of the Empire they were so keen to emulate. Forms of torture he didn’t want to think about. And knowing Ransom had been _one of them_ once, without details, was maybe worse.

He was almost relieved when a pair of pilots came into the barracks, breaking the silence with laughter. One had pale skin and brown hair, while the other had dark skin and very short, dark hair. The brown-haired one had an arm slung over the other’s shoulders. They were of a height, and wore dun-colored flight suits; what struck him first about them wasn’t the first pilot’s winning smile, or the sly humor in the second one’s eyes, but the way they looked like a matched pair.

The brown-haired pilot stopped short and pulled away when he saw Holster sitting up. “Oh, sorry. Didn’t know you were in here.”

“It’s okay,” Holster said. “I’m not sleeping.”

The two pilots exchanged looks, then the one who’d spoken before said, “Not sleeping, huh? Not a great thing to do alone.”

“I’m Thirdy. He’s Marty,” said his friend. “You just join up?”

“Visiting,” Holster said.

Another look. “Jack’s squad,” Marty said, with a smile of realization.

Thirdy went to one of the bunks and rummaged in a drawer underneath. “What’s keeping you up? You must be used to this kind of thing.”

These people looked like they’d been around a while. A part of Holster wanted to respect Ransom’s privacy, but another part _needed_ to know. “Did you know Justin Oluransi? When he was here?”

Marty eyed Holster, then tugged over a stool and sat across from him. “Why don’t you ask him?” he said gently.

“The First Order has him,” Holster said, gesturing vaguely over his shoulder. “I didn’t know about this place.”

“We know Justin, yeah,” Thirdy said. “He didn’t stay here long, but I trained him on one of the fighters. He was thinking about joining, before Jack took off.”

Holster frowned. “Why did he? And why don’t they ever talk about…all this?”

“My guess?” Thirdy said, dragging over a second stool. “They didn’t want their pasts hanging over them all the time. Me and Marty here, we were New Republic. Nothing traumatic about joining, we just thought we were serving a better cause here. Them, not so much, and everyone here knew it.” He tossed a flask to Holster. “Here. Might help a bit.”

Holster opened the flask, and the sharp smell hit his nose immediately. “Drinking on duty?”

“We’re not on duty,” Marty said. “Are you? No need to join in, but it takes the edge off, now and then.”

“Thanks,” Holster said, and took a swig. Despite himself, he grimaced. It was strong stuff. He capped the flask, and handed it to Marty. “So what was so bad about their pasts?”

“That’s not our story to tell,” Marty said.

“They’re my friends. Rans is…” Holster scrubbed a hand through his hair, not looking at them. Calling Rans his best friend when these strangers knew more about his past than he did felt juvenile.

“Jack can tell you himself,” Thirdy said, breaking the silence that followed. “As for Justin? He’s a good guy, funny, but you’ve gotta know there’s some out-of-the-ordinary stuff with him.” He tapped his ear, and Holster understood.

“The implants. I always thought, his parents were rich…”

“No one does that to their kid,” Thirdy said. “There’s nothing safe like it on the market, even for consenting adults. About five years ago, we started getting intel that the First Order was kidnapping kids to experiment on them. We didn’t get much more than that until maybe a year later, when we found out where they were keeping one of them. Justin.” Thirdy nodded. “Me, Marty, Jack, and a few others were put on that mission. Break into the facility, kidnap the kid _again_ , bring him back to the safehouse. It all went pretty much to plan, until we tried to take Justin out of there.”

Marty winced. “Don’t tell it that way.” He addressed Holster directly. “He didn’t want to be there, but they were using threats to his family as leverage, and they’d spent a while messing with his mind, too. Conditioning, I guess. Not up to the stormtrooper program’s standards, but they’d got him all tangled up. He tried to fight us, wanted to stay.”

“But he hates the First Order,” Holster said. It was one of the things that had bothered him ever since he’d learned Ransom was a defector. He couldn’t even imagine a Ransom who went along with them, after all the times he’d seen the low fire of fury in his eyes. Sometimes it scared Holster, how determined Rans could be in a fight. This wasn’t the first time he’d gone off against orders.

“And so he does, now,” Marty said. “But it took him a while to get…untangled, shall we say. And some help. We keep people around who specialize in that kind of therapy.”

Holster’s chest ached. It was good to know, he guessed, that Ransom had never really believed in that stuff. But as much as feeling like he didn’t know Ransom had hurt, it hurt worse to know what he’d been through. Not to mention the slightly dirty feeling he got from learning it from strangers.

“I told you just so you know,” Thirdy said. He leaned forward, putting a hand on Holster’s shoulder. “Whatever happens, I know he’s been out there with you for the right reasons. He’s a good kid.”

“He’s not going to die,” Holster said.

“He’s not gonna die easy, that’s for sure,” Thirdy said, with a tight smile. “To Justin,” he said, raising the flask. He took a drink, and they passed it around again. Pretty quickly, the conversation turned, and Holster fell into it with relief.

 

 

Eventually, Holster did sleep. He wasn’t that drunk, but the buzz of it was enough to let exhaustion win out again. When he woke, it was to Jack climbing onto the bunk above his. “Hnnh?” he said.

“Sorry,” Jack whispered, pausing on the ladder. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“’S okay,” Holster said. He pushed himself upright, squinting at Jack. “Is it night?”

“Yeah,” Jack said, stepping back down to the ground. He smiled ruefully. “I got ordered off-duty myself, for at least a few hours.”

“Hey Jack?” Holster said. Before Jack had to ask, he said, “What did you do with the First Order?”

Jack froze, his face going tight. Holster knew it wasn’t a polite thing to ask, and maybe not his business, but he needed to know.

“I was a stormtrooper,” he said at last.

Jack could just as well have dropped an X-wing on Holster’s head. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I was a stormtrooper,” Jack said, his voice stronger this time. “I realized that I didn’t want part of what they were doing anymore, lucked into some contacts, and the Hospital got me out. I’m probably one of the lucky ones. We didn’t have a choice to join or not join. We just got taught from the cradle. And sure, most of them believe it, but they don’t get to see anything else. And if they do question it, they get sent to reconditioning.” Jack took a breath, then muttered, “I just got lucky,” and climbed up to his bunk.

Holster lay back down. “Sorry,” he said after a moment. Then, to lighten the mood, “I think that’s the longest speech I’ve ever heard you give.”

“Don’t get used to it,” came the grumble from above.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been a while, but this fic is very much still going! Thanks for holding tight, if you have, and welcome if you've just started.


End file.
